There was a knock.
Then two. 
"Who is it?" Lisa called.
"It's me, honey," her mum replied.
"Oh, shit!" she muttered silently, wiping off the ashtrays and cigarette. Taking her nearly-empty perfume, she sprayed the contents into the air.
"In a minute, mum."
"Are you busy?"
"N-no, of course not," she stuttered, her eyes darting to the ashtrays. "Just doing some homework."
It's amazing how these lies come so easily, she thought
"Oh, alright then," her mum said. "Well, get on with that. Dinner's almost ready."
Lisa stilled, straining her ears for her mother's footsteps. When she was certain her mum was out of earshot, she laughed loud. 
"Mothers can be stupid," she said to no one in particular. Not that she planned to be one, anyways. Parenting comes with finding a good partner and settling down. She shivered as she thought of that.

Perish the thought!
She had her life in front of her—healthy and large. There was no way she would be tired down by a bunch of brats and an over-doting husband.

Then why was she still thinking about children?

She must be out of her mind, she thought. No sane person would consider settling down at her age. She was only 18, for Peter's sake!
Nope. Noppity-nope.

She stood up, dusting the Ash from her striped high-waisted skirt. She didn't make too much of a mess this time. She picked up the vacuum cleaner. Last time had been horrible, she thought with a grimace. The smell of cigarette nearly wafted to the kitchen. Not to mention the damn beer. But her mum, being her mum, never suspected a thing, which made her wonder if the myths surrounding mothers having superhero instincts were actually true.
Her mum was as dumb as a board. No arguments there. 

She went to the mirror to check if her eyes were as red as the last time. Bright blue eyes stared back at her. She smiled at her reflection, noting the way her dimples popped out. Her pearly-white teeth and curvy body had earned her a reputation among the boys and a couple of nicknames, the common one being The Class Whore.

She was offended at first, but then again, who said popularity doesn't come with name-callings.

She took a glance at her Math homework on her polished mahogany table—the one she had supposedly been doing. She had made no attempt to answer any of them. Each question looked like Greek before her. It wasn't her fault she was no expert in Math. Lisa had been told severally that she had gotten her less-than-nothing arithmetical traits from her father.

Her father... 

She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if by doing that, she would dispel every unwanted memory she had of him.
She shouldn't think of him

She had no father—and that was it.

"Don't blame me when your dinner gets cold," she heard her mum say.

Watch out for the next part!

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